Page 87 of Remember Her Name

The arm around her chest let up, allowing her to draw a full breath, finally. She kept going. “You were afraid Simon would find her and probably you, too, and finish what he started. Youfelt obligated to watch over her since he was still out there. You fell in love with Sheila and Jenna.”

Bell’s arm fell to Josie’s waist, holding her so loosely now. She wondered if she could lunge forward, slip out of his grasp, and dive onto Noah’s quivering body in time. Bell’s voice was scratchy. “Jenna was everything to me. Everything that was good and pure and beautiful in the world. She was my second chance. My silver lining. A miracle. Then she died. A murder that took fifteen years to claim its victim.”

“Yes,” Josie said. “Her cardiac issues were from the stab wounds Simon inflicted, weren’t they? The heart muscle was too damaged, too weakened to survive long-term.”

Josie felt something hot and wet against her temple and realized that Bell was weeping. “Sheila tried to get her on the transplant list, but the wait was too long. I would rather have served a half dozen life terms in prison than watch my little girl waste away and die. He took her from me that day and every single person who showed up afterward let him.”

He released her, pushing her toward Noah as he lifted his foot. The knife clattered to the ground. Bell strode away from them, toward the opposite side of the plateau. Josie had no time to see what he would do next. She threw herself onto her stomach and started to haul Juliet Bowen back up onto the Overlook. Noah’s grip was weak, his arms shaking so badly, it was hard to believe he had any strength left in them. Once they’d pulled Juliet’s upper body to safety, Josie gently pushed Noah aside and dragged her the rest of the way.

Noah flipped onto his back and stared at the drone floating overhead, chest heaving. Josie pressed two fingers to Juliet’s throat, relieved to find a thready pulse. It was then that she noticed Roger staring at her from across the stone floor, his back to the darkness, heels kissing the abyss beyond.

“Roger, wait.”

A sad smile touched his lips. “Detective Quinn. Do you know how it feels to lose everything?”

Josie stood up, advancing on him. “I know what it feels like to lose someone you love.”

She should have known this was how he would end things. Deep down, she had known it.

He held up a hand, stopping her in her tracks. “You want to protect the innocent? Then protect the innocent. Don’t come after me.”

There was nothing she could do. In the time it would take to reach him, he’d be gone. “But…” she spluttered. “The last polaroid. You can’t—the plan, your game—it’s unfinished.”

“You found this place,” Bell said, a peace so palpable spreading across his face, Josie could feel its wave where she stood. Dammit. No matter what he’d lost, he should be held accountable for his crimes.

“No,” she said. “The polaroid you left in Juliet’s bed. The one taken inside my home.”

His calm expression faltered. Confusion flickered in his eyes. “I didn’t take a polaroid from inside your home.”

The fine hairs on Josie’s arms and the back of her neck rose. “Then who did?”

He shook his head.

“The older woman helping you,” Josie blurted. “Her?”

Again, that slow, morose shake of his head. “She’s innocent in all this. She just wanted to help me. She had no idea what I was doing.”

“Then who took the last polaroid?” Josie demanded. Her voice was getting high-pitched again.

He mumbled something to himself, but Josie couldn’t make it out. She stepped closer, now tempted to go after him, to try to drag him back to the center of the perch they were on and do whatever she had to do to get an answer. She opened her mouthto interrogate him further, but he spoke before she could get a word out.

“Losing everything you love feels like falling,” he said. “From a very great height.”

Then he crossed his arms over his chest and let his body fall.

SIXTY-FIVE

TWO WEEKS LATER

“What are we doing here, Quinn?” Turner pushed his curly mop away from his forehead. A sheen of sweat covered his face. He was wearing his suit jacket even though it was almost one hundred degrees.

Josie kept walking down one of the tree-lined streets of the oldest residential neighborhood in the city. Stately Victorian homes rose up on either side, their manicured lawns stretched out like emerald carpets. Her friend Misty lived only a couple of blocks away. If Turner wasn’t with her, she’d stop by and have lunch. The pleasant thought of Misty and Harris was pushed to the back of her mind as the old Cook residence came into view.

“This is it,” Josie said, stopping in front of the home.

Turner sighed. “We’re still on this. Quinn, you have to let this shit go. The Polaroid Killer is dead. The girl survived. We have no leads on the mysterious grandmother but hey, I don’t think Granny is going to go on a stabbing spree, so case closed.”

Except it wasn’t closed. Not for Josie. She couldn’t stop thinking about the grandmotherly woman who’d bought Bell access to the classic cars on Schock’s Auto Repair lot. She couldn’t sleep at night wondering about the final polaroid, taken inside her house. The rest of the team was more or lessconvinced that Bell had lied about not taking it. Noah said it was just another way to screw with her mind. Gretchen thought he’d denied taking it because he knew it would have this effect on her. Slowly drive her out of her mind. Who could trust a man who’d lied to his wife for over a decade and slaughtered so many innocent people?

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